I’m riding in the back of an old car. Really old. We pass other old vehicles. The driver of one shouts to us to slow down, afraid we’ll take off. I explain that we’d have to be going over 80mph and have wings attached. At a junction, another driver asks for directions. A young lad riding on the bonnet jumps off to speak with him. He agrees to follow us. Dogs rush through traffic, barking. 
I’m walking through a city. It has old fashioned cars, but some modern technology. Everything is covered in a white dust, like snow. My friend explains that it is to regulate heat loss. I ask if everywhere is like this. The answer is yes, all cities covered in a carcinogenic dust. We walk to a bar. I’m not drinking. We meet another friend, already drunk. He writes there. Outside, I try to remember the way to the music shop, where I’m doing a course. There are two roads. Both have tuktuks parked in them. One is a ride for children. I take the other road. I find the shop, and inside, I find my midi guitar. I assemble it and play. I need an amp and a lead. J comes in and helps me set up. We jam. We have to improvise some music to a drama later. It’s part of our course. I have problems with my neck disconnecting from the guitar, it slides loose, new frets appear as it expands, a network of bike chains inside is revealed. I stick it back together and carry on playing. I smell burning plastic. Smoke comes from my volume knob. I ask J if it’s supposed to do that. I take it outside. J goes to fetch some water. I open up the smoking body. Inside, rags, and raw meat instead of a battery. The shop is now a butchers. Maggots feed on a piglets carcass on the top step. 
The butcher comes out to greet us. I offer my friend the meat in rags to use as a prop in his play. He declined. I throw it away. 
Across the road, a large cat defends his garden against invasion by cats and dogs. 


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